


No Defeat in Surrender

by Lunar_Pull



Series: Into The Darkness [5]
Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 08:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5491220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunar_Pull/pseuds/Lunar_Pull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things never change. And some things do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Defeat in Surrender

Some things never change.

 

Jiyong has spent too many hours of the better part of his life watching Youngbae sleep. He watches the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the way his breath puffs out softly from parted lips, the way that sometimes his eyes move rapidly under his eyelids and he twitches in his sleep. Jiyong watches and mostly wonders what Youngbae dreams about. Sometimes, Jiyong thinks about himself and the blood on his hands but he never wanders too far down that dangerous part of his mind because Youngbae usually shifts in his sleep to burrow closer to his body and Jiyong knows that he can’t be that full of evil and sin; not if Youngbae loves him like that - even in his dreams.

 

Jiyong’s eyes smolder into Youngbae tonight because he can’t fall asleep and he’s itching for a bump of coke. His mind keeps wandering (it never used to do that) to the prison cell and the fear and the agony and then the escape - all the necks he snapped in order to claw his way out of that hellhole. He’s not feeling guilt at his actions. Instead, Jiyong can only dwell on the fact that even after a year of making sure that every loose end was neatly tied or cut, it’s still possible to lose Youngbae.

 

The smaller man stirs, his eyes blink away the sleep slowly and he smiles crookedly. “What are you doing?”

 

He’s beautiful - voice raspy and tender, skin aglow with the light of the street lamp outside Seungri’s bedroom window.

 

“Nothing,” Jiyong smiles back despite his dark mood because Youngbae always has him wound tightly around his perfect little fingers. “Just can’t sleep.”

 

Youngbae makes an endearing pout of his lips and clicks his tongue. “Poor Jiyong.”

 

Jiyong scoffs and rolls his eyes, shifts his position so that he’s on his back. “It’s 'cause of Seunghyun’s loud-ass snoring.”

 

Youngbae giggles quietly as his fingers scratch lightly at Jiyong’s torso. “That’s Daesung.”

 

“I must have been gone for too long, then,” Jiyong says sardonically as Youngbae moves even closer to him.

 

“You were,” Youngbae whispers, draping himself on top of Jiyong and kissing him lightly, just once, on the lips.

 

“You missed me, baby?” Jiyong’s voice cracks and he pretends that it’s from straining his voice to whisper and not from the fear clawing at his insides again.

 

Youngbae only nods and kisses Jiyong again. This time there’s a hint of desperation in the way he tilts his head, opens his mouth and darts his tongue into Jiyong’s mouth without warning. Jiyong knows that Youngbae feels the fear, too.

 

“You know what we haven’t done in a while?” Youngbae’s voice lilts when he lets Jiyong breathe again.

 

“What?” Jiyong asks.

 

“Fuck,” Youngbae says and now his hands are making their way up Jiyong’s thigh and the thin man can’t help but laugh, even with the chill in his heart. Curse words still sound odd coming out of Youngbae's sweet mouth, but Jiyong’s almost getting used to this part, too. It is only a matter of time. Dogville always wins.

 

“We fucked this morning.”

 

“We fucked _Seunghyun_ this morning,” Youngbae reasons, his hand cupping Jiyong through the thin fabric of his underwear.

 

“Yeah, and then three hours later, I blew you while Daesung jacked off. A favor, by the way, that _both_ of you have yet to reciprocate,” Jiyong tries his best to be sarcastic about the whole thing, because even though he’s already on board, there’s something uniquely thrilling about making Youngbae convince him. Beg for him. Use that pretty little mouth to ask for all the dirty things he wants.

 

Jiyong thinks Youngbae learned it from Seungri.

 

Youngbae seems to like the game because the way he keeps kissing Jiyong’s neck and tugging on his half-hard cock proves that he’s not deterred. Instead, he leans up to straddle Jiyong fully, rubbing their members together while whispering in Jiyong’s ear.

 

“After dinner, Seungri came twice when I fucked him on the table,” Youngbae says and Jiyong closes his eyes, picturing the blonde bent over the wooden table, groaning out Youngbae’s name. Damn - Jiyong wishes he hadn’t left dinner so early.

 

“You bragging now?” Jiyong jokes, but the words come out breathily as Youngbae works his hips in a circular motion, grinding their hips together.

 

“Not bragging. It’s a fact. Besides, I heard you making Daesung scream in the next room.”

 

“Yeah, but he didn’t come twice,” Jiyong winces as his hips start to grind against Youngbae, as if they have a mind of their own. He’d meant to make the teasing last longer but the boy on top of him has always had an undeniable pull, like gravity, and Jiyong always falls.

 

“I want you to make me scream like that,” Youngbae says, surging up to catch Jiyong’s lips in a wild kiss. “I want you to show me who I belong to,” he adds, as if Jiyong needs any more convincing.

 

It’s the last sentence that drives Jiyong over the edge. He flips them over suddenly and Youngbae gasps.

 

“We can’t make any noise, though,” Youngbae whispers and Jiyong is too far gone with lust to consider the contradiction in his requests.

 

“Baby, even if they wake up,” Jiyong lowers his voice as requested and reaches for the lube on the bedside table. “They’ll just join us. It’s not a big deal.”

 

“I don’t want them to tonight,” Youngbae says, fitting himself under Jiyong. “I just want you.”

 

And Jiyong’s heart - strung-out and wicked as it may be - blooms with Youngbae’s simple words. His hand is already slicked and heading towards the boy’s entrance but he stops for a moment. Jiyong leans down and kisses Youngbae sloppily; their lips brushing in the darkness of the room is the only thing keeping the assassin in this moment. He feels like his entire body is floating; lead-heavy burdens are suddenly replaced by Youngbae and his blinding light.

 

“Shit, baby,” Jiyong breathes out, forehead resting against Youngbae.

 

“Come on,” Youngbae goads. “Fuck me how you used to when we were scared my parents would wake up and catch us. Fuck me slow, for hours. Make me go crazy from keeping my voice down.”

 

“Jesus, baby, you remember that?” Jiyong laughs.

 

“Of course,” Youngbae says.

 

It really wasn’t too long ago but it feels like several lifetimes. Jiyong measures his life by Youngbae: the first time they kissed, they first time they fucked, the first time Youngbae fell apart in his hands. The boy - squirming underneath him, biting his index finger to keep from crying out - is the star that Jiyong’s entire existence revolves around. The gas giant that lights up everything in its pull, without prejudice or intent. Jiyong has been caught in his inevitable draw for long enough to know that there’s no escape, only resignation. The sun always rises.

 

So Jiyong knows to give Youngbae what he wants - his thin fingers, for now, until he’s ready to take more - because there is no defeat in this surrender, only joy.

 

And madness.

 

The way that Youngbae’s voice comes out in wrecked little moans is absolutely maddening. Jiyong wants to reach up and cover his mouth roughly. He wants to bury himself inside the smaller boy, even though he’s still not ready, and fuck him hard enough to make the bed bang against the wall. He wants to make the other boys - hell, the entire _building_ \- wake up and witness him possessing this piece of heaven, this angel living in Hell. Jiyong loves Youngbae so much that sometimes he wants to smother his pretty face under a pillow, snuff out that terrible light.

 

It’s crazy and Jiyong knows. Youngbae has done nothing but be kind and generous and loving. His only fault is that he loves Jiyong back.

 

“Jiyong, please,” Youngbae begs and Jiyong shakes his head a little, clearing away thoughts of all the ways he wants to break the smaller boy open. Spread his insides on a table and study his biology. How is he put together? What makes him tick? What makes him breathe?

 

“Just fuck me already, damn,” Youngbae demands now, fingers pulling lightly at Jiyong’s hair and yeah, _alright_ , Jiyong can hold back. Jiyong can be a good boy.

 

He lines himself up with Youngbae’s entrance and just before he pushes in, someone in the bed stirs.

 

“You two are going to wake everyone up,” Seunghyun’s deep voice cuts through the darkness as he sits up, clad in only his boxer briefs, and stalks towards the balcony.

 

Jiyong watches the tall figure saunter out of the room, throwing a meaningful glance at him before disappearing through the doorway, and when he turns back to face Youngbae, the boy is eyeing the sleeping Daesung and Seungri warily. Jiyong knows the moment’s passed.

 

Jiyong rises from the bed after giving Youngbae an apologetic peck on the lips. He walks awkwardly towards the balcony, dick still achingly hard. He’s not sure if he wants to punch Seunghyun in the face for ruining his fuck, but the taller man seems to have something to say and maybe if this is over quickly Jiyong can drag Youngbae out into the living room.

 

“Seungri’s gonna be mad that you’re smoking again,” Jiyong chides, palming his cock and hissing.

 

It’s a cool night, just on the cusp of too cold, and Seunghyun’s profile in the glow of the street lamp is handsome.  His scar, still healing, is on the other side of his face and it makes Jiyong think of the moon and its hidden side. Seunghyun blows a column of smoke out of pursed lips quickly, sloppily, like the cigarette doesn’t taste good anymore.

 

“He’s already mad,” Seunghyun responds and though his tone is light, Jiyong can read the tension written all over his shoulders. “He hates when I take jobs on the West side.”

 

Jiyong nods. Seungri knows about love but not about debt.

 

“You nervous?” Jiyong guesses at what the interruption is about.

 

“Are you serious?” Seunghyun scoffs, sucking in a deep gulp of nicotine smoke before stubbing out the butt on the cement balcony ledge and flicking it out into the street.

 

Jiyong rolls his eyes and takes a seat of one of the old plastic chairs. “Then you better have a damn good reason for giving me fuckin’ blue balls at four in the morning.”

 

“You shouldn’t wake Seungri and Daesung up. They have a long day tomorrow.”

 

“You’re shitting me, right?”

 

“I mean it,” Seunghyun says, turning around to face Jiyong. “They work. Real jobs and all that.”

 

“If you count serving drinks and shaking your ass as real jobs -”

 

“Fuck you, Jiyong,” Seunghyun interrupts. He faces Jiyong head on. His face is full of shadows and his mouth is drawn into a snarl. His scar, long and curved, looks like an inhuman grin. Jiyong gulps, but he faces him down. Seunghyun’s nothing he can’t handle.

 

“Seungri and Daesung aren’t like us,” the taller man says after taking in a deep breath to calm himself. He’s always been better at that than Jiyong.

 

Jiyong knows what he means. They’re not corrupt sons of Dogville, they’re not depraved and beyond redemption. They’re good, despite how hard they try not to be.

 

“Fine,” Jiyong concedes because part of being a partner in crime is knowing when to do so, even though he wants to fight. “I’ll stop, but I can’t guarantee Youngbae will be so understanding.”

 

At that, Seunghyun looks down at the ground and Jiyong’s chest tightens because he’s been with the older man long enough to know his facial tics and this one is a dead give away. “Come here,” Seunghyun directs, but his lips are a tight line and Jiyong knows something is wrong.

 

When he goes to Seunghyun, the tall man wraps his arm around his waist so delicately that Jiyong wants to make a joke about how soft Seungri has made him. He lets Seunghyun hold him instead, even though letting someone hold him has always hurt.

 

Seunghyun dips his head and buries his nose in Jiyong’s hair, breathes in long and deep. The breath comes back out as a deep sigh that Jiyong can see. It _is_ too cold out.

 

“Have you talked to him?” Seunghyun asks and Jiyong doesn’t have to ask who he’s talking about.

 

“Prison wasn’t anything I couldn’t deal with. I made it out and I’m fine,” Jiyong pulls away a little. Seunghyun lets him.

 

“That’s not what I mean,” Seunghyun says even though he knows that Jiyong knows.

 

Jiyong sighs and runs his hand through his dark locks. He’ll need a haircut soon. “I know he had a hard time without me. Daesung told me all about it. But I’m here now, and everything’s okay. Everything’s back to normal and he won’t miss me again. He won’t ever be like that again, I’ll make damn sure.”

 

Seunghyun worries at his bottom lip, one hand braced on the ledge behind him. “That’s not what I mean, either,” he finally responds after a long silence.

 

And that’s...something.

 

“What are you talking about?” Jiyong frowns.

 

“You need to talk to him,” Seunghyun says, throwing worried glances at the opened balcony door.

 

“Why?”

 

“Jiyong, look at me,” Seunghyun demands, voice rough but hands softly encircling the thinner man, sharing the heat of his body in the cold, cold darkness. Seunghyun’s eyes are wide and haunting in their beauty - there are wells of emotion contained within. He gulps and Jiyong’s eyes fall to the motion of his throat because holding his stare is too hard, too raw. The hand wrapped around Jiyong’s waist feels like it’s burning his bare skin.

 

But Seunghyun doesn’t say anything for a long time. He lets his hand drop from Jiyong’s waist and leans back.

 

“He’s not a prince,” Seunghyun whispers and Jiyong doesn’t get a chance to process the statement before the taller man is already gone.

 

* * *

 

The first time Jiyong kissed Youngbae, he was fourteen years old, a little drunk, and really it was more like Youngbae kissed him.

 

Jiyong had been laid in Youngbae’s bed, hands clasped at his small stomach, no part of his body touching the other boy. He’d still been wide awake and a little dizzy from the alcohol he’d stolen on his way into the City. His stomach buzzed with a nervous energy because Youngbae had taken to letting his hair down when they slept side by side and Jiyong found a perverse sort of pleasure in losing himself in the jet-black, thick strands. Even in the darkness of his room, Youngbae’s hair shone in the pale light of the center of the City. The light that streamed in even when they closed the curtains. Jiyong wanted desperately for the other boy to fall asleep so he could reach out and touch.

 

And watch.

 

It usually didn’t take long, but on this particular night, Youngbae tossed and turned and sighed for about an hour before Jiyong decided that enough was enough.

 

“Go to sleep, weirdo,” Jiyong hissed in the darkness. Youngbae turned around in the bed to face him.

 

“You’re still awake, too?”

 

Jiyong had scoffed. “There’s no way I can fall asleep with you tossing and turning like that.”

 

“Sorry,” Youngbae had said quietly, and Jiyong could imagine him blinking demurely and pouting slightly, a picture of innocence. Just the thought of Youngbae’s face made Jiyong’s stomach do somersaults. “I just...I have to tell you something.”

 

Jiyong had frowned, lips closed tightly. His eyes grew adjusted to the dark and he could see the soft curves of the other teenager underneath the white sheets. Youngbae’s hair was messy and uncombed and it made him look vulnerable. Sweet. Young.

 

Youngbae had sighed, shifted in the bed again as if unsure of what to say next. Jiyong really wished he would just go to sleep. A minute passed and Youngbae sat up suddenly, pulling the blanket and Jiyong’s heart up with him.

 

“I kissed someone today.”

 

Jiyong’s eyes had widened as he doubled over, laughter bubbling up in his stomach uncomfortably. He couldn’t help himself. The laughter that seeped out of him felt awful - like vomit. His entire world was being shattered and the only thing he could do was laugh.

 

“I did,” Youngbae had said, mistaking Jiyong’s nervous laughter for disbelief. “He was older than me, too. And he didn’t laugh at me.”

 

And the laughter had stopped. Blinding, red rage gripped at his heart as Jiyong pulled out his hunting knife without even thinking about it. “You kissed a boy?” Jiyong questioned, all mirth gone from his voice.

 

“Yes,” Youngbae straightened his back and squared his jaw. Jiyong would have taken the move to mean he was going to fight except he know the other boy better than that.

 

“Well, aren’t you just taking a walk on the wild side?” Jiyong meant his tone to sound teasing but he knew the way he was staring at Youngbae, blade in hand and narrowed eyes, was scaring him. “Did you like it?”

 

Youngbae nodded, but then, as if thinking better of it, he spoke. “I don’t know. I think I did, but it wasn’t really the kissing.”

 

The sentence had made Jiyong pause and raise an eyebrow. “Oh?”

 

Youngbae had taken a deep breath. “When he was kissing me, I was thinking about someone else.”

 

And Jiyong’s heart had sped up tremendously; even more than the time he’d slit that other orphan’s throat while fighting for dinner scraps. This was a different kind of thrill, a different kind of dangerous, because Jiyong somehow knew exactly what Youngbae was going to say.

 

“I don’t know why, but I thought about you. How your lips would feel.”

 

“Stop,” Jiyong had meant to shout, but his throat was so dry that it came out as a whisper.  “I’m not - you are so stupid. That’s not what this is,” Jiyong stammered, heart pounding so loudly he bet Youngbae could hear it.

 

“You don’t want to kiss me?” Youngbae asked, tugging his shirt sleeves over his hands and looking entirely too delicate, too innocent. Too enticing.

 

Jiyong swallowed again. “I-I...uh…”

 

“I think you do,” Youngbae smirked a bit, preening with newfound confidence. He leaned forward, face closer to Jiyong’s.

 

“I’m not like the boy from your school, Youngbae. I’m not like you. I’m not a nice guy.”

 

“I know,” Youngbae said, face close enough Jiyong that the orphan felt his hands itch to touch. They were still the same height and Jiyong wanted both to push him away and to bring him closer. He’d never felt more confused and lost. It felt worse than the first time someone had beaten him, worse than when he’d learned what parents are - and that he didn’t have them. Worse than when he’d realized how worthless he was - how inconsequential his inevitable death would be.

 

“It’s okay,” Youngbae said, and Jiyong had willed himself out of his dark thoughts as he finally raised his eyes to meet the other boy’s gaze.

 

“I’ll hurt you,” Jiyong had said, a final plea, that he honestly didn’t even understand.

 

“I know,” Youngbae had responded and the look in his eyes seemed to Jiyong like he _did_ understand. Better than Jiyong, anyway.

 

When their lips met, Jiyong lost himself in the taste of strawberry juice mixing with the tang of alcohol and he thought, for the first time, about heaven.

 

He’d decided it probably felt like this. Like giving up.

 

* * *

 

It’s been weeks since Jiyong returned to Dogville, days since Seunghyun’s gone out of town on a job, and Jiyong now realizes that nothing is the same as when he left.

 

Seungri’s the most obvious. Probably due to the fact that he’s the youngest. He’s wound-up tightly, a ball of energy threatening to explode. He’s all sweet smiles and soft touches for Daesung, but he’s a nervous wreck around Youngbae, like he’s scared to say the wrong thing. He snaps at Jiyong. That sort of settles it.

 

It’s just the two of them at home; Daesung’s accompanying Youngbae to audition for a job at the bar and Seungri’s making lunch, like a tame housewife. Jiyong’s been trying to help (mostly, he’s been trying to fuck him) and Seungri smacks the rotting tomato out of Jiyong’s hand when he’s finally had enough.

 

“Stop it,” he shouts. “You’re not fucking helping.”

 

Jiyong hasn’t had a job in over a month and Seunghyun took his cross necklace - the one he keeps his coke in - before he left, so Seungri knows better. That’s what sets Jiyong off.

 

“The fuck is your problem, whore?” Jiyong hisses, deadly and quiet at Seungri’s ear. His fingers drum on the counter, dangerously close to a kitchen knife and Jiyong knows the former prostitute has noticed.

 

“You’re my fucking problem,” Seungri spins to face Jiyong and even as his fingers itch to curl into a fist, Jiyong is kind of impressed.

 

“You wanna bet?” Jiyong’s hands are at the edge of the blade and even though he’s really just trying to scare Seungri, the motion sends a shiver down his spine. Fuck, he forgot how good this feels.

 

“You’re blind, Jiyong,” Seungri says, face turned away from Jiyong, neck bared subconsciously. Relinquishing control. Jiyong loves that. He steps back, knife now clutched in hand.

 

“What are you talking about?” Jiyong asks as Seungri turns to face him again. Jiyong can see his faint scar and it almost makes him feel sorry for him. Almost.

 

Seungri runs his hand through his blonde hair. It’s trembling slightly and Jiyong’s half hard just from knowing what he could do to him. He wants to fuck him so bad. Seungri doesn’t seem to want to fuck, though. His eyes are shimmery with unshed tears and he looks at everything but Jiyong.

 

“If Seunghyun starts doing coke because of you, I’ll never forgive you.”

 

Jiyong sighs and puts the blade down. “Is that what this is about? He didn’t take my coke to snort it. He’s on the West side, he’s gonna need it.”

 

Jiyong doesn’t add that Seunghyun already does coke and all other party drugs known to man because he figures Seungri’s concern means that _he_ doesn’t know. It’s not Jiyong’s relationship. It’s not his problem.

 

“He shouldn’t be there in the first place,” Seungri’s eyes are bright with fury again. “He’s taking on too many jobs because of you.”

 

“I’m not his fucking mother -”

 

“I don’t care,” Seungri’s voice is louder and Jiyong’s not exactly cowering but he’s not beating Seungri within an inch of his life, either, and that’s kind of new. “He went back for you. Him and Daesung. And you never even thanked them. You never see what all of us do for you.”

 

“What the fuck do you do for me?” Jiyong seethes, enraged and thinking of all the way he keeps Seungri safe and alive. Like right now. By not killing the insolent brat.

 

“You have no idea what I do for you.”

 

“A cheap lapdance and a shitty lunch ain’t exactly payback for all the shit I’ve had to do for you.”

 

Seungri bares his teeth. “Fuck you, Jiyong,” he lowers his voice and kind of sounds like Seunghyun. “I’m trying to keep him sane. I’m trying to keep him alive. And you just fuck him and think it’s enough.”

 

A picture of Youngbae’s smile surfaces in Jiyong’s mind, like a corpse floating in water, and Jiyong suddenly realizes that it hasn’t been real since he came back to Dogville. It’s been too wide, too toothy - an imitation. It hasn’t quite reached his eyes like it used to. Seungri’s eyes soften and Jiyong guesses he must look as confused as he feels, because suddenly there’s not enough air in the room and how the _fuck_  had he not noticed it?

 

Jiyong breaks eye contact with Seungri, eyes nervously darting around the room until they finally land on the bottle of pain medication prescribed to Youngbae after the hospital. Seungri usually keeps it hidden but today, he’s had it on the counter all afternoon. He _wants_ Jiyong to see. It’s nearly empty but it hadn’t been three weeks ago when Jiyong snuck a pill out of the bottle. There’s only one other person who could be doing the same.  

 

“He adores you,” Seungri says, a little softer, a little kinder. “But…”

 

_I hurt him, I hurt him, I hurt him._

 

Jiyong’s hands twitch at his side and he looks down at the floor. Seungri steps closer, merciful and forgiving, like a knowing god. Or maybe just a good lover. Aren’t they one in the same?

 

“You should talk to him,” Seungri finishes, hands cupping Jiyong’s face with a boldness and a tenderness that leaves Jiyong struggling to catch his breath. Seungri is still so kind under his mask, even after life has fucked him over, even after Jiyong does the same. Dogville should have broken him down, but he still smiles and he still loves and he still forgives. A victory, indeed.

 

Seungri smiles a bit and kisses the corner of Jiyong’s mouth chastely, and it’s this - this little moment of reprieve from the oncoming storm.

 

This is what Seungri does for Jiyong.

 

* * *

 

Youngbae’s on the roof.

 

He’s on the edge, to be more precise - arms outstretched to keep his balance, toes pointed carefully, messy hair blowing in the wind.

 

He’s breathtakingly graceful; his movements are precise and his silhouette is slender in the light from the City’s walls. The sun is sinking on the horizon behind him and he looks like a dream. But there’s something else that makes Jiyong’s breath catch.

 

Youngbae is stoned.

 

Hours have passed since Jiyong had his moment of clarity in Seungri’s gentle hands and it’s all so obvious now.

 

There’s a recklessness to his movements that Jiyong recognizes easily. Youngbae balances on one foot for a fraction of a second too long and he has to wave his arms wildly to regain balance. He doesn’t seem to notice the immediate danger he’s in. The building is several stories tall and the edge of the roof has no barrier. There’s nothing between Youngbae and certain death except a gentle breeze.  

 

Jiyong approaches him as slowly as he can manage. His stomach is threatening to claw out of his throat.

 

“Baby, what are you doing up there?” Jiyong makes his voice soft, trying not to startle the smaller man.

 

Youngbae shrugs, turns sharply on his heel and walks the opposite direction. One foot in front of the other.

 

“Nothing,” he replies in a sing-song tone and Jiyong blanches. He has no idea what to do. He’s never been on the opposite side of high.

 

“Why don’t you come down?” Jiyong ventures, stepping even closer to Youngbae.

 

Youngbae lets out a sound that sounds suspiciously like a scoff. “I like it here,” he replies, sending Jiyong a grin that the assassin knows isn’t real.

 

Jiyong doesn’t know what to do. He stands by the door to the roof, shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. He doesn’t feel rage like he did at Seungri’s defiance. Watching Youngbae ignore him and continue to toy with the edge of the rooftop makes Jiyong feel something both completely new and startlingly familiar. An emotion he thought he’d never feel again; certainly, at the very least, not caused by the boy who changed his life with a simple kiss.

 

Jiyong feels desperate.

 

“Please, baby,” Jiyong begs in that way he only dares to do with Youngbae. “Seungri says dinner’s ready. Come down now.”

 

“You promised we’d never have to be alone again,” Youngbae says suddenly, eyes focused razor sharp on Jiyong. His eyebrows are drawn into a tight frown and Jiyong’s heart pounds in his chest because this Youngbae is not his. His Youngbae only smiles.

 

“I had to save you,” Jiyong draws himself to his full height - always prepared for battle - and stares right back at Youngbae. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep the boy by his side, except lie to him. Jiyong will not pretend to be sorry. “Just come down and we can talk about it.”

 

“No,” Youngbae responds, “I’m fine. I can make it to the other side, Jiyong.”

 

“It’s too far. Come down.” Jiyong’s voice is as deadly calm as before he claims his victims.

 

Youngbae’s sugary sweet smile is set firmly back in place and he shrugs as he skips a little further down the edge. He seems to have a hold of himself even though his head is the clouds and Jiyong wants to let himself admire the way Youngbae is giving him a show, movements just shy of sensual, but he can’t forget that the shorter man is on the edge of the building and the wind is picking up.

 

Jiyong’s heart seizes violently when Youngbae’s shoes skid on the cement. He doesn’t even feel himself move but before he knows it, he’s by Youngbae’s side, pulling him harshly away from the edge by his arm.

 

Youngbae hits the ground of the rooftop hard. He lands on his arm, letting out a pitiful yelp that makes Jiyong cringe. There’s blood on the roof and Jiyong breathes hard as he stands above Youngbae, who is still groaning on the floor.

 

_I hurt him, I hurt him, I hurt him._

 

Jiyong’s mind screams.

 

Youngbae sucks in a sharp breath and tries to stand up.

 

“What happened?” Seungri cries from the doorway that leads to the roof. He wastes no time in rushing over to help Youngbae and Jiyong wonders how much the younger boy has seen. Does it even matter?

 

“Angel, are you okay?” Seungri fusses and coos over Youngbae and the shorter boy only smiles, only nods, only lies without opening his mouth. There’s a gash on his bicep and Jiyong finds himself staring at the blood that still flows, the tender flesh, the bits of cement and debris that clutter the wound.

 

_I hurt him._

 

“Let’s go,” Seungri demands and Youngbae follows demurely, head bowed. He ignores Jiyong and the assassin keeps his lips closed, keeps his screeching thoughts unvoiced.

 

Jiyong watches silently as Seungri and Youngbae exit the rooftop, neither boy looking back at him.

 

He decides never to touch Youngbae after that.

 

 

* * *

 

The first and only time Jiyong has ever seen Youngbae fall apart happened after his father’s funeral.

 

They never did catch the killer and Jiyong has always suspected that the City police didn’t really search that hard because he’d seen the crime scene and it was the sloppiest job he’d ever laid eyes on.

 

Still, the cause of his death wasn’t as important as the fact that he was Youngbae’s father. Somewhere in the meanest part of his being, Jiyong had felt a little sigh of relief when he’d found out about the murder. One less person for Youngbae to love. One less person to compete with.

 

He’d wisely kept that thought to himself because Youngbae had just turned fifteen and he was a moody mess of hormones. Besides, there was a time before the truth. A time - a lot like the present, come to think of it - where Youngbae and Jiyong’s relationship was defined by their late-night sleepy kisses and the things they didn’t say to each other. Things like _I kill people for a living_ , or _there’s this other boy I let fuck me_ or _I love you and I don’t know what to do_.

 

Jiyong had snuck into the City the night before the funeral but he didn’t sleep in Youngbae’s bed. To this day, he doesn’t know why. He’d slept in a dark alleyway and waited for sunrise.

 

The day of the funeral, Jiyong hid in the artificial forest at the edge of the City cemetery and watched.

 

Youngbae broke his heart.

 

He was clad in a dark suit two sizes too big for him - no doubt, his father’s clothing - and he stood besides his sobbing mother and younger sister with his back straight, his chin raised, his mouth a thin line. He’d tied his shoulder-length hair back at the nape of his neck.

 

He was a vision; calm and stoic as he read from a book, and even though Jiyong was too far away to hear the words, he could make out Youngbae’s voice, soft but steady. Brave.

 

Jiyong had wanted to go to him, to hold him in his arms, to confess how deeply he felt for him. He wanted to offer Youngbae the same comfort he was offering to the rest of the funeral attendees and his family. Jiyong wanted to be his strength and somewhere deep in his heart, a great stirring began - more sudden than the change after their first meeting, more violent than the trembling after their first kiss.

 

That night, Jiyong let himself into Youngbae’s room. The window had been opened, inviting him in.

 

Jiyong doesn’t remember the words they exchanged, only the wild beating of his heart and the way he’d felt like a trapped rat staring at its end. The way Youngbae’s eyes slowly filled with tears as he’d finally let himself weep. The way Jiyong had promised to never let any harm befall this perfect being, this lovely soul.

 

Youngbae had looked up at him, face small and still wet with tears against Jiyong’s chest. He’d smiled the most gorgeous smile Jiyong had ever seen and said the words that Jiyong knows, even now, are going to bring him nothing but doom masked as glory.

 

“I love you.”

 

* * *

 

Weeks pass.

 

Seunghyun’s job on the West side is taking too long and it’s making everyone nervous. He hasn’t called.

 

Seungri fills up his time rather well, divides it neatly between doting on Youngbae and swooning over Daesung. He offers Jiyong his body and what love he has left over, but Jiyong stubbornly refuses. He pushes the three of them away.

 

Jiyong has been sleeping on the couch.

 

One night, Youngbae comes to him in the strained hour before the sun breaks over the horizon. Jiyong’s mind is a mess, filled with cotton half-dreams and sharp longings. He hasn’t slept. He’s only fretted. Jiyong hasn’t had a bump of coke or a job in a month and somehow, that’s the least of his worries.

 

“Jiyong, don’t do this,” Youngbae whispers, but there’s no smile on his lips or tears in his eyes. No emotion in his voice. Jiyong suspects that he’s high again, but perhaps it’s something even worse. Maybe there’s just not enough room in his heart or mind for Jiyong anymore. Youngbae used to be so attentive and sweet. He used to fill Jiyong with an overwhelming sense of belonging. He used to make Jiyong feel like he was the most important person in the entire universe just by glancing his way. But things have changed. And now - now Youngbae is just…

 

Jiyong doesn’t even know.

 

“I’m not doing anything, baby,” Jiyong says, feigning a smile, hiding his heart. “I just want to be alone.”

 

Youngbae frowns but his face seems more bewildered than angry. “Why? It was an accident. I’m fine.”

 

“I know,” Jiyong says, but it’s a lie. Youngbae isn’t fine. He hasn’t been fine since the rooftop, since Jiyong returned, since he was almost beaten to death. Youngbae isn’t fine, and he probably never has been. It all started the moment he set foot in Dogville. Maybe Jiyong should have never stolen him away. Princes aren’t meant to live among filth.

 

“Jiyong,” Youngbae whispers, eyes suddenly darker than the assassin’s ever seen them. “You promised.”

 

Jiyong sighs. He knows. He promised that they’d never have to be alone again. Thing is, though: Youngbae isn’t alone. He’s surrounded by two beautiful, devoted men who more or less worship him and how can Jiyong tell him that it’s killing him when it’s making Youngbae so happy? It’s not possession that’s driving Jiyong mad, it’s jealousy. For weeks now, Youngbae has looked at Seungri and Daesung with dreamy eyes and a real smile, but when he looks at Jiyong, it’s like there’s a veil over his eyes, like he’s not truly there.

 

So now, all Jiyong can do is hurt. He aches like the day of Youngbae’s father’s funeral. He hurts because he’s close enough to reach out, but he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what Youngbae wants, what he needs.

 

It’s a strange sort of surrender that even Jiyong doesn’t understand. He used to think he’d battle God himself to keep Youngbae in his arms. But he’s lost him - perhaps irrevocably - and he doesn’t even know to whom. Did he lose Youngbae to Daesung’s powerful arms or Seunghyun’s superior cheekbones? Was it Seungri’s dual nature; was it his gentle touch that eclipsed Jiyong in Youngbae’s heart, or his penchant for sin?

 

“Do you really want to be alone?” Youngbae asks and there’s defeat in his voice. Jiyong wishes he had the will to tell him the truth - he’s dying without him, like a fish drowns in air - but there’s something sinister holding him back: doubt.

 

Jiyong’s heart clenches but he lies flawlessly. “Yes.”

 

Youngbae doesn’t ask again. He leaves Jiyong in the blueish tint of Seungri’s living room. The assassin keeps his eyes wide open until the dawn breaks.

 

For the first time in years, Jiyong wants to cry.

 

 

* * *

 

Two days later, Youngbae has his first gig at the club.

 

Jiyong watches from afar as Daesung and Seungri fuss over him, tightening his belt and fixing his cowboy hat. The assassin sits on the couch, eyes trained on Youngbae, who brims with the energy of excitement. He looks happy. Jiyong finds some comfort in that, at least.

 

Suddenly, Youngbae’s eyes meet Jiyong’s from across the room.

 

“What do you think, Jiyong?”

 

Daesung and Seungri exchange less than subtle glances. Seungri looks like he’s trying not to smile.

 

“You look drop dead gorgeous, baby,” Jiyong grins when he sees Youngbae blush at his words. “A goddamn dream come true.”

 

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Youngbae asks.

 

No. Jiyong wasn’t planning on coming to watch countless men salivate over the only boy that’s ever broken his heart. He didn’t think he was even invited, in all honesty, considering how strained things have been between them. But there’s a finality in Youngbae’s tone that makes Jiyong want to do whatever he wants. It wasn’t truly a question.

 

“Of course,” Jiyong responds and Youngbae smiles the first real smile Jiyong’s seen in what feels like a lifetime.

 

It all goes to shit pretty quickly. To Jiyong’s credit, it isn’t his fault.

 

He manages to hold back, even when he wants to fucking murder every single person who lays eyes on Youngbae. And it’s all of them. Youngbae is fresh meat, after all, and to Jiyong’s surprise, he shakes his hips in a way that is entirely too sexual. He saunters back and forth on the stage, commanding everyone’s attention, sensually gyrating his body to the beat of the music, like some sort of expert. Jiyong would probably feel a lot more impressed and proud if he wasn’t so busy imaging all the ways to crush the men in the crowd, especially the ones yelling obscenities.

 

But he holds back. He watches Youngbae, entranced by his smooth motions and by the fact that the smaller man has not once taken his eyes off of him. It’s like they are the only two people in the room and this dance is just for Jiyong. It almost feels like old times again. The monster in Jiyong sleeps.

 

After Youngbae’s debut, he’s allowed a fifteen minute break before he has to be on stage again. Jiyong waits for him by the bar Daesung’s working. He breathes deep through his nose, nostrils flaring as he watches Youngbae walk through the crowd, turning down offers and batting away stray hands. It takes all of his effort for Jiyong not to completely lose his mind. Blood pounds in his ears.

 

Daesung hums a low sound behind him and Jiyong reigns himself in again.

 

“Did you see?” Youngbae beams once he reaches the pair. “Was I good?”

 

“Amazing,” Daesung praises, smile bright. “Like nothing I’ve ever seen before, Bae. I didn’t know you could dance like that.”

 

Youngbae blushes beautifully and thanks Daesung before turning to Jiyong. “And you? What did you think?”

 

Jiyong breath hitches by the intensity of Youngbae’s gaze. He takes a deep breath but he doesn’t get a chance to answer before there are two large men crowding them.

 

“So, sexy, what’s it take to get you to come home with me?”

 

“Excuse me?” Jiyong can hear Youngbae say. One of the men has stepped between them, blocking his view. Not that it matters. Jiyong’s only seeing red.

 

“You heard my friend,” the other man says. “He wants to know how much you cost.”

 

“You two should be on your way,” Jiyong hears Daesung warn. The assassin reaches for the gun in his jacket, but he doesn’t pull it out.

 

“I can handle this, Daesung,”  Youngbae says calmly. “I’m sorry, I’m just a dancer.”

 

“I didn’t ask what you do, I asked what’s your price.”

 

Jiyong hears the gasp of the crowd around him before he sees the cause. Everyone around the group takes a step back and it takes a moment to make out the hand that the man accosting Youngbae had on the bar is now split by a knife. There’s no blood or cry of pain; Jiyong realizes the knife landed between the man’s fingers.

 

“Next time, I won’t miss,” Daesung states evenly, not looking away from the vodka he’s pouring into a cloudy glass.

 

The two men curse up a storm, but they leave without further incident. It takes mere seconds for the crowd to back to the bar, more desperate for alcohol than concerned for their safety. Such is life in Dogville.

 

Youngbae stares daggers at Daesung. Daesung doesn’t meet his eyes and curiously enough, he looks nervous. Jiyong gulps, feeling like he’s watching a car wreck.

 

Youngbae finally speaks. “I told you I could handle it.”

 

Daesung meets his eyes and sighs. He doesn’t say anything but even Jiyong can see it. He doesn’t think Youngbae could have handled the two men on his own. Youngbae purses his lips and shakes his head before turning away and disappearing into the crowd.

 

Jiyong starts to go after him but Daesung calls out. “My break’s in ten minutes. Meet me outside.”

 

It takes all of Jiyong’s willpower to let Youngbae walk away. But he does.

 

Later, when Daesung joins him in the alleyway outside the bar and smirks deviously, Jiyong can’t help but think there’s something dangerous about him, too. Something that maybe only he can see. The look in the bartender’s grinning eyes sends a thrill through him.

 

“Check it out,” Daesung says, pulling out a joint from his jacket pocket.

 

Jiyong grins. “I knew you weren’t as squeaky clean as Seunghyun seems to think.”

 

Daesung frowns. “It’s just weed, Jiyong.”

 

“Gateway drug, though, right?”

 

Daesung barks out a laugh. “Oh, please,” he chides. “I brought it for you. Thought you might need something. I know you haven’t had a job for a while.”

 

And in his stone of a heart, Jiyong feels a warmth blossom because Daesung is the single kindest human being he’s ever known and the assassin doesn’t think he deserves any of what the younger man has to offer him. Not his weed, not his smile, not his loyalty. Jiyong thinks that Daesung is what Youngbae will become - a gentle soul, made more resilient by Dogville.

 

Jiyong pictures the knife protruding from the bar; the clean, sharp silver against the dark mahogany. Threatening, but not deadly.

 

“Thanks,” is the only thing Jiyong can say, because there are too many sweet words in his mind for Daesung and he knows the bartender doesn’t want or need to hear them. He throws an arm around Daesung’s shoulder instead. 

 

Daesung smiles and lights the joint. Sucks in a deep pull before passing the joint to Jiyong.

 

“So he’s mad at you, too, huh?” Jiyong says. The smoke burns pleasantly in his lungs and throat.

 

“Yeah,” Daesung sighs. “If I’d known he was going to be so stubborn I would have thought twice about joining this mess.”

 

“You’re a damn liar,” Jiyong shakes his head, making Daesung burst into laughter as his fingers graze the fabric of his jacket. “So what’s he mad at you for?”

 

The bartender’s laughter dies down and he takes another hit before responding. “When we went to his audition, he made me promise to let him do this on his own. Said he wanted to take care of himself.”

 

“He’s gotta be the only human on the planet who gets mad because you want him safe.”

 

They both laugh, but the sound is hollow in the darkness of the night. The smoke surrounding them is lit up by the column of light emanating from a street lamp. This corner of Dogville feels oddly empty. It’s all theirs and Jiyong feels kind of good about that. Kind of safe. The darkness used to terrify him, when he was a child.

 

“Nah,” Daesung begins, eyes glassy. “It’s something else. Something we can’t understand.”

 

Jiyong snorts. “But Seunghyun and Seungri do?”

 

“Seunghyun’s not here and Seungri is...well...” Daesung shrugs. “You know.”

 

Jiyong sighs and thinks of Seungri’s soft hands. “Yeah. I do.”

 

A silence settles between them. They share the joint until it’s too small to fit between their fingers. Jiyong flicks the stub onto the ground; Daesung puts out the flame with his foot. Everything is hazy, filtered through an unfocused lens. Jiyong concentrates on the rhythm of Daesung’s breaths and the warmth from his shoulders. He lets himself get lost in the companionable quiet and doesn’t know how much time passes before a question strikes him.

 

“So what is it then?” Jiyong asks. “I’ve known Youngbae since I was twelve. What don’t I understand?”

 

“I don’t know,” Daesung responds, voice a bit raspier than usual. “But I think it’s important.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Maybe we don’t see it because we don’t want to.”

 

Jiyong moves away from Daesung. He leans back against the street lamp post and closes his eyes. “Fucked up thing is, if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. I’d still save him, even if it means he’d hate me like this.”

 

“Yeah, me too,” Daesung breathes out.

 

Jiyong’s eyes are closed but he can feel Daesung standing in front of him. The heat he radiates is unmistakable. The soft brush of his lips against Jiyong’s forehead is enchanting and he’s not sure if it’s the drugs or Daesung that’s making him feel like all the nightmares that came before this moment were just that - dreams. There’s nothing more real than Daesung’s love and warmth and the truth in his words. Jiyong opens his eyes.

 

“You’re wrong, though,” Daesung says, voice low.  “He doesn’t hate us. He doesn’t hate you. He could never do that.”

 

Jiyong nods slowly as he stares at Daesung’s smile. He’s mesmerized by its gentleness.

 

“We’re his everything. _Especially_ you,” Daesung concludes and something in his voice is undeniable.

 

Jiyong wants desperately to believe him.

 

* * *

 

 

 If you ask Jiyong, killing is the easiest thing in the world.

 

He snaps this one’s neck.

 

It’s less messy than shooting or stabbing him, which is what Jiyong would usually do when he’s been this long without a job. This one was young, though, and Jiyong still isn't sure he believes that the young man raped someone’s daughter. But someone had paid him and Jiyong isn’t going to spend too long questioning the validity of the reason. He needs the money and he definitely needs an excuse to leave Seungri’s apartment.

 

This job takes a little longer than he would like, but once he corners the son of a bitch, once he’s had enough of the pleading and bargaining, Jiyong makes it quick.

 

Jiyong’s got the body wrapped up in a plastic body bag. He’s dragging the corpse through Dogville at night, towards the river. He’s not in a popular part of town, so he’s not too worried. Besides, the people that do see him make a show of pretending not to notice and scurrying back to their homes. They fear him. Jiyong grins. He hasn’t felt this powerful in months. He’s not even high.

 

When he dumps the body into the river, Jiyong feels crushing emptiness that knocks the breath out of him. The job is over, and now Jiyong must return to Seungri’s apartment. It should be a relief, but lately being surrounded by Youngbae, Seungri and Daesung makes him feel more alone than he ever felt as an orphan. They are perfect and mesmerizing and Jiyong just isn’t one of them.

 

The way Youngbae always looks at him from across the living room as if begging him to come closer is driving Jiyong mad. He can’t bear to step across the threshold, he can’t dare to touch him again.

 

_I hurt him, I hurt him, I hurt him._

 

Screams of guilt are the chorus to Jiyong’s life nowadays. He’d rather live in melancholy, though, than hurt Youngbae, physically or mentally, ever again.

 

He should have never come to his window.

 

A ringing brings Jiyong out of his dark musings. He doesn’t remember bringing his cellphone, but he picks up on the second ring.

 

“Hey, asshole,” Seunghyun’s low growl is unmistakable. Jiyong doesn’t smile, but his heart feels somehow lighter.

 

He has missed Seunghyun and the realization almost paralyzes him. He plays along after a few seconds. “Hi, bitch.”

 

There’s some rustling on Seunghyun’s end of the call before the older man speaks again. “I don’t have much time. What are you wearing?”

 

Jiyong frowns. “Shouldn’t you call Seungri for shit like this?”

 

“Don’t be a dick, Jiyong. Seungri likes to get too creative and like I said, this has to be quick. Pass the phone to Daesung if you’re going to be a fucking spoilsport.”

 

Jiyong rolls his eyes. “I’m not with them. I’m not home.”

 

“Oh.” There’s a beat of silence. “Is everything okay?”

 

“Yeah, they’re fine. I just had a job.”

 

More silence. Jiyong wonders how much time Seunghyun has.

 

“Is that all?” Seunghyun asks. Jiyong thinks that maybe he’s made of glass. Maybe everyone can see into his charred heart. But, no, that can’t be the case. If that were so, Youngbae could easily see how damn sorry he is.

 

“Jiyong,” Seunghyun’s voice sounds so different from the growl of earlier, He sounds soft. He sounds like Seungri. “Talk to me.”

 

“It’s nothing, man,” Jiyong breathes out. “It’s just...everything.”

 

Jiyong sits at the edge of the river, the body he disposed of has floated away. The lights of the City’s walls are at his back and in front of him lies only darkness. He wonders how far the blackness extends. If he were to start walking now, how long would it take him to reach the end of the world?

 

There are no stars out. Jiyong doesn’t think he’s ever seen one in the Dogville sky.

 

“Jiyong, you need to talk to him.”

 

Of course, Seunghyun knows.

 

“I can’t. I can’t even get close to him.”

 

“Yes, you can. You’re the only one that can, actually.”

 

“What did you mean when you said he wasn’t a prince?” There has to be something Jiyong is missing, something right in front of him, just out of reach.

 

“Jiyong…”

 

“No, tell me. Were you talking about the drugs?” Jiyong ventures a guess.

 

A muffled sigh. “No.”

 

“Then tell me, please,” the darkness in Jiyong’s heart spills out, like liquid overflowing. “I don’t know how to fix it. I feel like I’m fifteen all over again and he’s breaking apart every time I touch him. I don’t know what to do. I can’t save him.”

 

“He’s not a prince, Jiyong.”

 

“What does that mean?” Jiyong cries out harshly. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

 

There’s a long silence and Jiyong almost thinks that Seunghyun is about to hang up. He wants to ask him when he’s coming home. He wants to see the older man’s smoky eyes. Jiyong misses him almost as much as he misses Youngbae.

 

When Seunghyun finally responds, it doesn’t make anything clearer.

 

“Ask him to shoot a gun.”

 

* * *

 

Youngbae spends a lot of time on the roof nowadays. Jiyong knows exactly where to find him.

 

When Jiyong bursts onto the rooftop, Youngbae starts. He almost loses his balance, but Jiyong doesn’t go to him. The shorter man regains his footing and stares at the assassin, expression unreadable. The lights of the City’s walls are bright behind him and the atmosphere is so tense it steals Jiyong’s breath away. But he doesn’t back down. He’ll never back down from anything, not even his heart.

 

“Where were you?” Youngbae asks, feigning ignorance.

 

“I need you to do me a favor,” Jiyong ignores his question. “Come here.”

 

Youngbae’s eyes widen but he follows the order, steps away from the edge of the roof. He hasn’t seen this version of Jiyong in a long time - the demanding one. The air feels electric. Jiyong pulls out his revolver and moves to stand behind Youngbae.

 

“I think you should practice shooting. For protection.”

 

“I don’t like guns, Jiyong. You know that.” There’s a frayed edge to Youngbae’s voice and Jiyong wraps it around his finger and pulls. Jiyong wants to see him unravel.

 

“It’ll be good for you, baby,” Jiyong insists, voice harsh at Youngbae’s ear. “Aim for that beer bottle.”

 

“This is dumb,” Youngbae protests weakly as he accepts the gun Jiyong presses to his opened palm.

 

“Just try it,” Jiyong coaxes. “I won’t be around forever, you know.”

 

Youngbae sucks in a sharp breath at that. “Don’t say that.”

 

“Come on - ”

 

“I don’t want to…”

 

“Youngbae,” Jiyong steps back, gives the shorter man room to aim. “Shoot.”

 

“Jiyong, I - ”

 

“Shoot!” Jiyong shouts suddenly and Youngbae reacts instantly. The gunshot rings out loudly and the silence that follows is overwhelming. The can is blown cleanly off the roof.

 

Youngbae pants softly and Jiyong realizes he doesn’t know him at all.

 

“What the fuck?”

 

“I can explain,” Youngbae spins around to face the Jiyong, his voice panicked.

 

“Why the fuck do you know how to shoot a gun?” Jiyong shouts, his mind struggling to make sense of what he sees. “How the fuck do you have perfect aim?”

 

“Just listen - ”

 

“Listen? _Listen_?” Jiyong shakes his head as he steps back. “Who the fuck _are_ you?”

 

“I’m me,” Youngbae says. “Just..you know, me.”

 

“No, _my_ Youngbae has never held a gun before. _My_ Youngbae can't hit a target from ten feet away. _My_ Youngbae knows nothing about killing.”

 

“Please, Jiyong,” Youngbae breathes out, eyes downcast.

 

Jiyong runs his hands through his hair, eyes darting about madly. “Please what?”

 

“Look at me. _Really_ look at me.”

 

And Jiyong’s eyes land on Youngbae. He’s stunning - chest rising and falling, brows furrowed, face bright despite the gloomy clouds that loom closer and closer. He makes Jiyong’s heart hurt just by looking at him, like he always has, only now, he’s holding a gun.

 

“I’m not who you think I am,” Youngbae begins and the sincerity in his eyes is irresistible. “I want to be. _So_ badly. I want to be an angel for you. I want to be perfect.”

 

Youngbae’s eyes flicker to just behind Jiyong for a moment and his eyes burn. “But I'm not. Before I met you, I was a complacent fool. I believed in the government’s lies. I believed that the City way of life was the right way - the only way.”

 

"And then you came into my window.” When Youngbae’s eyes meet Jiyong’s once again there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips. “You came into my life and you showed me the truth. I fell in love with you and it made me question everything.”

 

A memory of Youngbae as a teenager blossoms in Jiyong’s mind. God, he has always been so beautiful.

 

“Now, I feel. So deeply. I feel so much love for you and the others but what I feel most of all is rage.”

 

Everything in Jiyong’s vision comes into sharp focus. Distantly, thunder rumbles.

 

“The government took my parents’ lives because they disagreed. Those walls behind you - I look at them every day and I feel furious. For years, those walls kept us apart. And now, they divide me from sister.”

 

Youngbae walks closer to Jiyong. He looks older somehow. The stirring in Jiyong’s heart begins again, fierce and all-consuming.

 

“It’s not just about me. Those walls are the reason you, Daesung, Seungri and Seunghyun have had to suffer. They have kept you, the love of my life, from living a good life simply because you were born on the wrong side.”

 

“What do you want?” Jiyong’s question comes out so swiftly that for a moment he marvels at how simple it’s always been. He’s spent a month driving himself mad, terrified of what Youngbae’s answer to the question would be - disappointed with himself that he even had to ask. But now, the question comes out so naturally and it makes Youngbae’s shoulders relax. He sighs out a smile. He _wanted_ Jiyong to ask.

 

Jiyong’s hands curl into fists; his mind aches with revelation. He thinks, deep down, he has always known the answer.

 

“Blood,” Youngbae says quietly, but intensely. He sounds like Seunghyun. No - he sounds like Jiyong. “Revenge. Retribution. The same things you want.”

 

Youngbae leans in close, cups Jiyong’s trembling face with his soft hand. “You and I have always been the same kind of animal.”

 

Yes. Of course. It all clicks into place so suddenly and Jiyong smiles darkly. He leans down to let Youngbae kiss him passionately. Stocky arms wrap around his neck, holding him in place. All the horrors Jiyong has ever committed, all the suffering he’s endured - all of it - had a purpose.

 

It has always been for this. Jiyong became a dark and wicked thing - a man with little qualms about destroying - and now he understands the purpose of his descent into immorality. It was to give Youngbae his vengeance, to serve as an instrument of his wrath. Jiyong will bloody his own hands so that his love never has to. This is what Jiyong has always been meant to do; his destiny.

 

He will never again feel lost. He will never again be alone.

 

With Youngbae in his arms, as the dark clouds begin to break and drops of rain prick at his skin, the beast inside Jiyong stirs. He kisses Youngbae, pouring as much apology as he can into the meeting of their lips, and the smaller man, for his part, seems to understand. He kisses back ardently.

 

The thunder rolls ever closer. The rain soaks their bodies but they do not part. Not for this. Not for anything. Never again.

 

Jiyong will never hurt Youngbae again. He’ll hurt _for_ him.

 

Seunghyun was right. Youngbae is not a little prince. He’s Jiyong’s king.

 


End file.
